


What We All Want

by EquinoxKnight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Genderqueer, M/M, Negative Self Talk, Omega Castiel, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-04 03:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EquinoxKnight/pseuds/EquinoxKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel Novak has always had a hard time fitting in. Even as a grown man he is haunted by his past, and a result he constantly struggles with his status and his position at work. After a run-in with Dean Winchester, a superior that he has been suppressing an attraction to for years, he is left dealing with the traumatic aftermath. But maybe he won't have to deal with it alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Castiel’s pounding pulse can’t even be drowned out by the broken exhaust fan. He winces when he goes to swipe his damp knuckles over his lips for the tenth (eleventh?) time. Squinting at the rust speckled mirror he can see a drop of blood leaking out of a crack in his swollen bottom lip, and with a resigned groan he carefully dabs at it with his favorite threadbare handkerchief.

Freezing, Cas glares at the handkerchief, brushing his thumb idly over the twisting border of embroidered vines, poking at the fraying edge of a poppy petal. He considered flipping it over to see the C.N. in curving script that he knows is on the other side, but decides against it and quickly stuffs the handkerchief into his pocket.

As he pulls his glasses from his pocket and slides them back onto his nose he turns to the door.

“Wait.”

Sometimes he feels a little silly for speaking to himself out loud like this, but in his lowest moments (which this one most certainly ranks), it has always helped to calm him down. 

“No on is going to know that you threw up in here.”

They will.

“You are going to walk out of here like you just went in here to… splash some water in your face.”

Everyone knows what you really are.

“You are going to take two ibuprofen, chug the rest of your water, and then you are going to march up to third so you won’t be late to see Mr. Singer.”

You don’t have the guts.

“You will not beg him not to fire you. You don’t even know that if he is planning on firing you.”

Oh, he is.

Realizing that his attempts to psych himself up are failing dramatically, he reaches across and grips his left wrist tight enough to hurt. He can feel the sharp metallic edge of his watchband digging into his skin, and then, before that deep dark, pitch-black part of himself can speak up and stall his progress again, he unlocks the door and barges out into the hallway.

He casts one quick glance to the right, and he can feel his shoulders relax minutely when he sees that there is no one in the lounge or the kitchen, so no one is around to see him come out.

Half turning reflexively to prevent the bathroom door from slamming, he listens to the exhaust fan wheeze and die as the sensor lights flicker off. Since there are no disabled people employed in the any of the basement departments, the handicapped bathroom is irregularly maintained. Thankfully it is so rarely used that it is as clean as he has ever seen a public bathroom. He has pondered asking maintenance about fixing the exhaust fan, but he has hypothesized that the horrible racket that it produces every time the bathroom is occupied is the primary reason that the bathroom is always in such impeccable shape whenever he has to deal with bouts of nausea during his flux.

Cas finds himself wishing, as he always does those few times a month that he can’t help but lose his lunch, that the word flux would be stricken from human knowledge. As embarrassing as it is to be 33 years old, delta, male, and still going through regular flux every month like clockwork, it is so much worse having to be constantly surrounded by the hordes of female deltas employed at WinTech that couldn’t seem to wait for their flux to arrive every month.

He glanced at the big clock on the North wall of the accounting department he sees that it is 12:03. So he isn’t too dreadfully late, thank god. He stalks across the muted beige cavern, wondering for a fleeting moment where everyone has wandered off to, since it seems that she only person left in the whole department is Ian playing minecraft in his corner cube over a steaming cup of ramen.

He drops himself into his chair, quickly spins it around to face his desk, and swipes his mouse around to dispel his screen saver. Without even having to look at what he is doing he tugs open his top drawer, snags his bottle of painkillers, pops two onto his tongue and promptly washes them down with the rest of his water. Cas thinks that he should probably be a little bit worried about how easily he can do that, but waves away the thought. I’m on my flux, and besides, it’s not like I’m popping Vicodin or something.

He quickly exits out of his email browser, not wanting to even catch a glimpse of the message that had sent him running to bathroom twenty minutes earlier, and brings up his department calendar. Apparently the reason for the mass exodus was the baby shower that Hester had been planning all week for Rachel. Castiel suddenly feels silly for forgetting so easily, and then guilty for not being able to go. He obviously wouldn’t have been able to go because of being called up to third all of a sudden, but he just knows Hester must have looked all over for him, and probably texted him to ask if he had headed over to the venue early.

His cellphone is silenced and kept in his trench coat pocket during working hours to prevent distraction, but as he gets up to snag it out, he is struck with an incredibly stupid and disturbing thought.

When you go up to the roof to kill yourself after you lose your job, it may be cold. You should probably bring your coat.

He grabs his coat off of its hanger and marches off towards the elevators.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any weird errors you may spot. This is unbeta'd, and since this is very experimental for me I don't know when I will be publishing more. I've created my own system of a/b/o dynamics for this 'verse, with character statuses ranging from alpha to epsilon (derogatorily referred to as omega). Flux is a state which you body may enter periodically if you are not physically or mentally suited to your current status, and as a result of flux you can either settle, or stay the same, or shift, which could mean to either shift up-status or down-status. I wanted to experiment more with the dynamics and create a 'verse where a/b/o dynamics are actually dynamic, and can change or shift based on social, emotional, or sexual interactions.


	2. Chapter 2

Finishing off the last bite of his burger, Dean waves at Jo, carelessly stacking glasses under the bar. As he scoots sideways out of his and Sam’s favorite booth he drops his crumpled napkin onto his plate, and he heads on out the door. Sam is half a step behind him, a bit lighter on his feet since he had turned down ground beef today and stuck with one of the very few salads that the Roadhouse offers. Sam pauses at the door and waves at Jo, reminding her to call Ellen since she hasn’t talked to her in over a week. Jo flips them both the bird from her post at the bar, and calls out for them to remind her mother to suck it.

Of course, both of the Winchesters boys know that attempting to pass along that message would be beyond stupid, so Dean shouts back a threat to give the Roadhouse back to Ellen and stick Jo in the mailroom if she doesn’t call Ellen that night.

The threat is hollow, and they both know that Jo and Ellen will probably be patching things up before the close of business on Friday, but the constant bickering between the Harvelle women has been reaching a fever pitch in the last few months and Dean doesn’t know if he can stand it anymore.

“What was it this time, anyway?” Sam asks Dean, as they slide into the sun-warmed front seat of the Impala.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Dean lets out a low groan. “I can’t even remember. They never fight about the same thing, but it always sounds the same. I’m starting to think maybe it was mistake, convincing Jo to stay. I know Ellen would’ve flipped if I hadn’t done anythin’, but it’s pretty obvious that splitting ‘em up hasn’t done a damn thing.”

“Honestly,” Sam agreed, slouching down into the leather bench seat. “We keep them split up, they don’t live together, they don’t work together, they don’t have to see each other at all if they don’t want to, and yet somehow they’re still at each other’s throats.”

“Charlie suggested staging an intervention, but I don’t think there is enough booze in the world for that plan to actually work.”

“Makes me glad things aren’t so tense with dad anymore. Sometimes seeing Ellen and Jo fighting almost gives me senior year flashbacks.” Sam flashes a toothy grin in Dean’s direction. “Anyway, do you know what dad is up to? It feels like I haven’t spoken to him in months. He still in Indonesia, or am I way behind?”

“Uh, I’m pretty sure he arrived in Taipei this morning. I’ll probably talk to him once we get back to the office.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the middle of the night in Taiwan, Dean, and considering how long he’s been in Asia I doubt he’ll be jetlagging himself through the night like he used to.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll probably have a couple messages waiting from him as soon as we get back, though.” Clearing his throat, and adjusting his left cuff link, Dean finally reaches the turnoff for WinTech Corporate Headquarters. Pulling into his spot right by the front entrance, they both hop out of the car and head inside the glossy white marble lobby.

Sam waves at Garth, who buzzes them through the security gate with an admirable decrease in fumbling, although it seems like he is still taking his sock puppet to work with him. Dean considers making a joke about it to Sam, but he hates to admit that the dorky little Security Delta (and his puppet by extension) have started to grow on him.

As the sleek mirrored doors of the elevator slide closed in front of them, Dean finally remembers the reason for the “work lunch” they had both just thoroughly enjoyed. “Wait, didn’t you say that you had some news to share over lunch?” Dean turns on Sam, crossing his arms across his chest and trying to put on his best “Bossy Alpha” face. Sam has pointed out in the past that when Dean gets dominant he starts to look like he’s constipated. Sam has come to regret revealing this tidbit to Dean, because since that day he delights in pulling it out around him any time he wishes, because Sam laughs virtually every time he sees it.

Sam misses this glorious attempt at humor, however, since he appears to be studying the toes of his shoes quite intently. Dean reaches out to poke at his brother’s arm, and Sam turns to him, looking thoroughly embarrassed. “Shit, I completely forgot that that was why I asked you to meet me. Well since we’re back here, we might as well head to Legal, and I can tell you in my office.” Sam reaches out and taps the button for the third floor.

“Wait wait wait, why did you ask me out to lunch to share this little tidbit, but now you want to wait until we are all tucked away in your office. Is it a secret?” Sam whips his head up and Dean advances at him with a wide goading smile. “Oh, come on Sammy! Tell me already. I’m fairly sure the elevator cameras don’t have sound, and I don’t think anyone in security can read lips…”

“No! Uh, no. I’ll just tell you in my office. Or, you know, actually I could just show you once we get up there, since there is an, um… thing that goes with… what I was going to tell you.”

“Wow, very articulate there, Sammy. Amazing what a college education has done for your vocabulary.” A wicked thought occurs to Dean and, putting on his best concerned big brother face, he reaches out to grasp Sam’s shoulder. “Did you finally get that butterfly tramp stamp you always wanted back in High School?”

Dean finally manages to get a choked laugh out of Sam (and mentally checks that off of his to-do list for that day) and Sam shoves Dean’s arm away from him. “No, no, it’s just um, well…” Pausing for a moment, and letting out a grumbling sigh, Sam turns to the control panel and pulls on the emergency stop switch. Their ascent comes to a halt, and Sam turns back to Dean, looking slightly flushed and fiddling awkwardly with the end of his tie. “Sarah is pregnant.”

“What!” Dean is rarely genuinely surprised, but this was certainly not anything that Dean was expecting.

“I realized after I met you downstairs earlier that I had left my copy of the sonogram on my desk, but, shit, I just couldn’t wait.”

Finally busting out of his state of temporary shock, Dean swoops in and gives his brother a rib-cracking hug. “Shit, Sammy, shit. This is… this is amazing!” Sam starts to tap him on the flank, trying to let him know that he is running low on oxygen, so Dean releases him and takes a step back. “How far along is she?”

“Just a month, I think. Give or take a day. It was our anniversary, so…”

“Say no more, honestly. It doesn’t matter how hot your Ep is, I really don’t want to hear about any marathon sex that involves my baby brother.”

Sam pulls a slightly squicked-out face as he releases the emergency stop and the elevator car continues up to the third floor. “I wasn’t trying to give you details Dean. So, I guess I’ll see you on the way out at five?”

Dean nods and gives Sam a little love tap on his sternum. “I just can’t believe my little baby brother Sammy is finally becoming a man. I mean, it feels like just the other day I was changing your di—”

Sam silences him when he swoops in for a full on hug, patting Dean on the back a couple of times. Without saying a word he steps back out of the elevator.

Dean is more than excited that he has his first little niece or nephew on the way, and almost lets the moment go unspoiled. He reaches out and taps the button for the fourth floor, and lets out a grumbled, “Bitch.”

Just a split second before the door closes Sam fake coughs a, “Jerk,” into his fist.

Dean can’t help but smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just hammered this out, so it is unbeta'd. I have 15 chapters outlined so far, and I can't believe I started this thinking that this fic would be an easy way for me to enter the fandom. Oh, well. I don't know how often I will be able to post, but considering the next chapter is literally the first scene I came up with for this fic many months ago, I'm hoping I won't have to struggle to get it out.
> 
> Also, many thanks to everyone who read/commented/kudoes'd. I respond well to peer pressure, so if enough people pester me I will probably right more/faster.


End file.
